Seriously?

Yeah yeah, I know. Haven't written in forever, blah blah blah. We've been down that road before and we all know how great I am at keeping those promises.

I'm here today to hopefully spur myself into remembering how fun and easy it can be to write on this blog. This post is kind of a two-parter, each distinctly connected through the common thread of Starbucks coffee.

For those of you who don't know or don't remember, I sported a green apron for almost three and a half years, better known as most of my collegiate career. It's a phenomenal company and I have almost entirely nothing but good things to say about them as a company and as an employer. As a byproduct of this, I remain loyal to Starbucks to provide me with caffeine intermittently throughout my work week, and occasionally on the weekends. That means I make anywhere from five to ten trips into the warm embrace of a Starbucks coffee shop in any given week.

With this frequency, you start to notice things about your fellow patrons. One thing that has always slayed me and once nearly spurred me to the tipping point of nudging a stroller is the promised land in the few hundred square feet of any Starbucks known as the condiment bar. It is here that we can tinker with our drinks like scientists in a lab until they reach coffee perfection. For 95% of grown adults, especially those who are creatures of habit enough to visit a Starbucks, we know how to prepare our coffee to our liking. I drink a venti black coffee and add one Sweet & Low and one Equal, stir, then leave. I'm efficient as all hell. I am in and out of a condiment stand in under 30 seconds. I even understand those of you who are a little more complex; throw some cinnamon in there, sift through the pitchers in search of the whole milk. But for the love of all that's holy, please, please know what you're doing to your coffee before you get to the condiment stand ahead of me.

This is my experience the other day: I was running behind schedule, as I am sometimes wont to do in the morning time. I get my coffee, and there are two people, taking up the entirety of the condiment stand. This is fine.

Then, this woman who was already there, as soon as the man next to her leaves, scoots to the MIDDLE of stand.

She takes a half & half pitcher, pours.

She takes the sugar, pours.

She picks the half & half pitcher back up, pours.

She takes the vanilla powder. Shake shake shake.

She takes the sugar, pours.

She picks up her coffee cup, now filled to the absolute limit.

Sip. Stand. Stare.

She stirs the coffee.

Sip. Stand. Stare.

She takes the vanilla powder. Shake.

She takes the cinnamon. Shake.

Sip. Stand. Stare.

Sip. Sip. Sip.

Stare.

Stand.

Finally I saw that the level of liquid in her cup was low enough for me to elbow her on my way to the sweetener, and elbow her I did. I grabbed the two packets and a stir stick and carried them to my office with me rather than taking care of it at the Starbucks.

She was still staring out the window when I got to the corner and the light had finally changed.

This is what I deal with at least once a week.

So, now. This evening I was on my way home on the bus, which is always an adventure in and of itself, as has been well chronicled here in several posts.

I am standing in my regular spot at the middle of the train, and as the doors are closing at one station, a guy comes trying to gracefully slide through the doors as they shut. He failed, and damn near smacked an unsuspecting patron in the head with his messenger bag, which he'd whipped in behind him to avoid it being stuck outside of the train.

Naturally, the near victim never even realized because they were playing Candy Crush.

Now, for those of you have had the distinct pleasure of riding San Francisco's Municipal Transit system, you know that if the doors are interrupted whilst closing, they will re-open to their maximum level so as to avoid crushing limbs or people.

So the doors re-open in this entry, then they begin to close again. Again someone tries to throw themselves into the train before it scoots away. Except this person made one HUGE tactical mistake: the only body part they put out to interrupt the doors from closing was their left hand, which was holding a Caramel Frappuchino.

Apparently, this uninformed soul did not think the doors might actually meet when the closed around their wrist, so their reflex when this happened was to relinquish the grip on their beverage.... which then flew halfway into the train, and promptly exploded. Shoes were showered with sugary goop, caramel, and whipped cream, and the whole center area of the car was suddenly a beige puddle. And what does this wonder of human achievement do once they realize they have given six or seven MUNI patrons a frappe shower? She gets on the train, steps over the puddle, and finds a seat like nothing ever happened.

Some days, it's just too much.